The Soprano of the Opera
by Camberleigh Fauconbridge
Summary: Two men control Christine. One, the "ghost" of the opera who gives her a voice. The other, a childhood friend who gives her a scarf. Her decision between them will not only endanger the memory of her beloved father, but the very fate of the Opéra Populaire. 25th Anniversary.
1. Chapter 1

_The Soprano of the Opera: A Novelization of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "The Phantom of the Opera"_ by Camberleigh Fauconbridge

**Genre**: Horror/Mystery & Romance

**Summary**: A novelization of the longest-running Broadway musical— Andrew Lloyd Webber's 1986 immensely successful and triumphant musical, _The Phantom of the Opera_, now twenty-five years old in London.

**Imagined Cast**: Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom; Sierra Boggess as Christine; Hadley Fraser as Raoul; Kiera Duffy as Carlotta; Liz Robertson as Madame Giry; Daisy Maywood as Meg; Barry James as Firmin; Gareth Snook as André; Wynne Evans as Piangi; Nick Holder as Buquet.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. The characters, setting and general plot are property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of _The Phantom of the Opera_.

**Note**: This is based off the musical stage adaption, _not_ off the film adaption or the original novel. There are elements of the book (Perros-Guirec, the name of the seaside town where Raoul and Christine met; Philippe de Chagny, Raoul's brother, makes a small appearance, as does Cecile Jammes) but almost all of the information comes from the musical stage adaption.

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><p><em>Prologue<em>: The Auction, 1905

**Paris, France, 1905**

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><p>The auction in the Opéra Populaire had already begun by the time a Catholic nurse brought an old man into the auditorium. However, though his hair was grey and he was in a wheelchair, the man's eyes brightened as he returned to the place he had fled thirty years before.<p>

The man was Raoul de Chagny, vicomte of Perros-Guirec and widower of the opera's former star, the Swedish vocalist Christine Daaé. Before her death, Christine had often spoken of the opera theatre and its many hidden secrets. One was a musical box, with a Persian monkey on its lid. The tune it played was haunting and sorrowful, she said, and had never left her.

As the nurse and the vicomte went down the center aisle, the auctioneer was saying, "Lot 663, then: a poster from the opera's 1881 production of Chalumeau's _Hannibal_, starring Ubaldo Piangi as Gen. Hannibal and Carlotta Giudicelli as Queen Elissa— although the actual performance starred Mlle. Christine Daaé in the role of Queen Elissa. Do I hear ten _francs_? Fifteen_ francs_? Twenty? Thirty?" The auctioneer paused, seeing Raoul raise a hand. "Thirty _francs_, to the Vicomte de Chagny. Going once, twice, sold to the Vicomte de Chagny for thirty _francs_."

The porter handed the poster to Raoul as the auctioneer continued. Other porters displayed further items. One item was a wooden tray filled with human skulls— whether genuine or counterfeit no one could tell— from the opera _Robert le Diable_; another was the musical box his wife had mentioned. Raoul purchased the musical box for twenty _francs_.

Raoul was oblivious to the auction as he stared at the figure on the musical box. "She spoke often of you," he murmured. "Every detail precisely as she told… I wonder if you will still play, even though everyone who ever remembered you are gone."

He looked up as the porter uncovered a huge pile of— what was it? Was it piles of bead-covered folded platforms? The auctioneer explained. "Lot 666: pieces of the opera's grand chandelier. We have refurbished it with the new electric lighting, so we may glimpse what it may have looked like in the golden years of the opera house."

The auctioneer paused dramatically, almost eerily. "Legend tells the chandelier fell during a performance of Albrizzo's _Il Muto_, and killed one person. Was the cause the chandelier's old fastenings, finally loosening after years of wear? Or was the culprit a ghost, a phantom, which put a curse on the opera house in the form of the chandelier?"

The audience was frozen, spellbound and horrified at the notion of a phantom. Only Raoul moved, leaning forward, remembering those months of terror.

"Let us illuminate the story, to shed light on the truth and chase away the phantom's curse..."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter One:_ Rehearsal at the Opera

**Paris, France, 1881: **_**Twenty-Four Years Previous**_

Raoul de Chagny, the young vicomte of Perros-Guirec and one of numerous patrons of the Opéra Populaire, stepped onto the famous stage. As he gazed at the gold- and velvet-covered auditorium, his view confirmed the belief that _Le Opéra Populaire_ was the grandest and most famous of all the opera houses in Paris.

Performers were covering the stage, their voices filling the theatre. Raoul recognized the loudest singer on stage to be the Italian _prima donna_ of the opera, Carlotta Giudicelli. She was ruthless and proud, but she possessed a superb voice, so the opera managers put up with her as best they could.

The production manager of the opera, Monsieur Lefèvre, raised his voice and called to the chief répétiteur, Monsieur Reyer, to stop the rehearsal.

"_Merci_, Monsieur Reyer," Lefèvre said. "Ladies and gentlemen, you doubtlessly have heard rumors of my impending retirement. Alas, those rumors are true. I am here to introduce you to the new opera managers: Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles André." There was a smattering of polite applause. "Also present is our newest patron, Lord Raoul de Chagny, vicomte of Perros-Guirec." More enthusiastic praise followed.

"My family and I are privileged to support the distinguished Opéra Populaire," Raoul told Lefèvre.

"Monsieurs, may I introduce you to the opera's _prima donna_ of five seasons, Carlotta Giudicelli, and our leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi." Raoul, the new managers and the performers all made the necessary pleasantries.

"I see I am keeping you from your rehearsal," Raoul said. "I regrettably must leave you now, but will be attending tonight's performance. Good day to you all." He bowed and left.

Monsieur Reyer turned to the performers. "Once more, _s'il vous plaît_."

The ballet dancers started their dance routine, all in sync— everyone except for one. A dark-haired girl was lagging behind, seeming to be distracted. A blonde girl next to her whispered, "What is it?"

"Daaé!" Madame Giry, the ballet instructor, barked. "Focus on the dance, not your daydreams!"

"Daaé?" André asked. "Any relation to the Swedish violinist Charles Daaé?"

"His only child, monsieur, and orphaned at age eleven," Madame Giry told him.

"What a pity," Firmin said in an indifferent tone. "Who is the blonde next to her?"

"My daughter, Meg," Madame Giry answered. She focused on the brunette again. "Christine! Pay attention!"

The chorus moved off the stage in synchronized motions until only Carlotta was onstage. She began to sing the beautiful aria in the third act of _Hannibal_.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember me_

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try_

Then, without warning, a set background started to fall. Piangi rushed forward and pulled the unaware Carlotta out of the way. The _prima donna_ cringed at the noise and started shrieking in Italian.

Meg, seeming to be unable to control her words, called out, "It's the phantom again!"

"Hold your tongue, Meg!" Madame Giry snapped.

"_Non è possibile eseguire durante la mia vita è minacciata!_ _No posso_!" Carlotta was shrieking at the top of her lungs. "_E 'miei rivali! Mi rifiuto di giocare il loro gioco stupido!"_

With that, she stormed offstage, leaving Firmin and André shocked.

"Well, monsieurs, I must take my leave," Lefèvre said. "Good day, and the best of luck to you." He bowed to them and walked down the center aisle to the doors.

"What on earth are we going to do?" Firmin exclaimed. "No Elissa for the _Hannibal _gala? We have to cancel!"

"Let's find someone else," André said. Turning to Monsieur Reyer, he asked, "Do you have a replacement?"

Reyer shook his head. Then Meg Giry surprised everyone by speaking up. "Christine Daaé could sing it, monsieur."

"The dancer?" Firmin said stupidly.

"Give her a chance, monsieur," Madame Giry replied. "She has been taught well."

"All right," André said desperately. "Let her try."

Christine emerged slowly from the mass of dancers. She looked as if she would faint.

"Sing, Christine," Madame Giry told her. "Two measures before the cue, Monsieur Reyer."

When her cue came, Christine nervously opened her mouth and sang quietly. Her voice was good, but fear was covering any present talent.

"This is doing nothing for my nerves," André murmured. Firmin signaled him to be silent.

Christine's voice was changing. It grew louder, loud enough for everyone to hear the beautiful tone and vibrato in her voice. When she finished, a hush fell over the auditorium. Then all the performers applauded madly.

"Bravo, Mademoiselle Daaé!" Firmin called out. "An excellent performance. You will make a splendid Elissa."

Christine looked shocked. A small smile formed on her lips as she curtsied to the managers and fled the stage to practice.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Two_- Little Lotte, the Opera Star

"The role of Elissa will be performed by Christine Daaé of Uppsala in this special gala performance of _Hannibal_," Philippe de Chagny read off the program. "What happened to Carlotta Giudicelli?"

"Christine Daaé?" Raoul asked his brother, a memory starting to stir. "The daughter of the Swedish violinist?"

"How should I know?" Philippe sounded irritated. "All I want to know is whether Carlotta will perform at all during the week so we can go to another— better— performance."

Raoul almost retaliated, but the lights darkened and he fell silent. The spotlight centered on a young woman alone on stage, dressed in the elaborate red and gold and green costume of the Queen of Carthage, preparing to sing the first score.

Christine was quite a good actress, and had grown ever more beautiful. Raoul remembered her voice to be sweet and youthful; even back then, it was on its way to becoming wonderful.

There was no comparison now. Her voice was mature and phenomenal, causing tears in the audience. The only word Raoul could conjure was _sephardic_.

Raoul sat, enthralled, during the entire performance. He was the first in the audience to stand and call out many bravos. He watched Christine curtsy and acknowledge the applause and many roses thrown to the stage. Raoul was certain of one thing: he must meet with Christine once more.

_It's easier said than done, Raoul_, he told himself as he struggled though the mass of patrons and admirers crowded against Christine's dressing room. Many carried bouquets in hopes of winning the chorus-girl-turned-star's attention, while their wives looked on jealously.

Christine finally appeared at the door of the dressing room, inciting a revival of calls and pleas. She seemed tired and unsure of what to do.

Raoul pushed his way to the front and made sure to get her attention. "Christine! Little Lotte! Do you remember me? Raoul de Changy, the boy who saved your red scarf from the ocean."

Christine gasped. "Raoul? Is it really you?" He saw tears of exhaustion glimmering in her eyes. "Before we do anything else, please help me turn them away."

Raoul nodded and turned to the crowd. "Mademoiselle Daaé gives you her apologies, however she wishes to retire for the night."

"Will you be performing again, mademoiselle?" a voice called out.

"I do not know, monsieur," Christine replied. "Possibly. Speak with Monsieur Firmin or Monsieur André." She beckoned Raoul to step inside the dressing room and shut the door behind them.

"I never thought I would see you again, after we left Perros-Guirec," Christine said as she removed costumes from chairs and offered one to Raoul. "I mean, your family is French nobility. My ancestors were Swedish peasants. I hardly expected us to mix."

"I'm glad we did," Raoul replied. "Where did you go afterwards?"

"My father took me here, to Paris," she answered. "He got a job as a violinist in the orchestra, and enrolled me as a dancer in the chorus."

"Did you still sing?"

Christine looked down. "I did, for a while. When my father died, I gave it up. I couldn't bear to sing without his guidance."

"What prompted you to start again?"

Christine looked uncomfortable, as though concealing something. "When the An— when my friend suggested I step in for Carlotta Giudicelli." She had a strange, focused look on her face, as if trying to convince herself that the lie was true. Then she seemed to shake herself out of the reverie. "But enough about me. What have you been doing all these years?"

There wasn't much to tell. He had attended the Paris University for several years, but his father had died several years previously, surprisingly naming Raoul vicomte de Chagny. Raoul had left the university to care for his family.

"Have you met any beautiful young women to become your vicomtess?" Christine asked.

Raoul sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No. My mother and siblings are pressuring me to marry, but I have not found the right woman amongst the nobility. They are too... flighty and preoccupied with themselves. I could not live with someone like that." He thought he detected a relieved glint in her eye, but it could have been a trick of the light.

A knock came from the door, and Christine rose to answer it. An older woman dressed all in black stood. "Christine, it is getting late, and Meg wishes to speak with you about—" Then she saw Raoul and curtsied. "Forgive me, lord vicomte, but Christine needs to rest. If you will excuse us."

Raoul stood, aware that the woman was politely telling him to leave. "May I see you later tonight?" he asked Christine.

Christine had a strangely panicked expression on her face. She exchanged a quick look with the older woman. "The... opera has very strict curfews, Raoul. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow?"

"All right." Raoul was dissatisfied, but he had the promise of meeting her again.

As he left the dressing room after the woman, he heard Christine whisper, "Things have changed, Raoul."

_Things_ _have_ _indeed changed, Christine. For better or worse, I cannot say._

Raoul returned an hour later, not sure of the reason. Maybe he subconsciously wanted to persuade Christine to speak with him. Perhaps he wanted to reassure himself that he had not dreamed of their meeting.

He raised his hand to knock on the old door when he heard voices. One was Christine's clear tone, but the other was unknown to him.

"You performed superbly, Christine," the unfamiliar male voice was saying.

"Thank you, Angel," Christine replied.

"I do wonder why you were speaking with that boy, the vicomte."

Raoul froze.

Christine sounded defensive. "We were childhood friends in Perros-Guirec, and we talked. That's all."

"You should not have spoken to him, Christine." The "angel" seemed angry.

"Why not? We are friends. Surely there is no harm in talking."

The Angel changed the subject, taking on a hypnotizing, enthralling tone. "Visit me."

When Christine did not reply, the Angel's voice grew angry again. "I am the Angel of Music, am I not? This is what your father wished for you on his deathbed.

"Come to me, my beautiful angel. Look in the mirror. I am waiting for you." The sound of Christine walking across the small room came faintly through the door.

Raoul banged on the door and tried to turn the handle but could not. "Christine!"

Christine's footsteps stopped, as if she was hesitating. "Hurry!" the Angel urged her. The handle finally turned, and Raoul threw open the door.

The room was empty.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Three_: The Phantom's Night Music

The Angel seized Christine's hand in a tight grip and led her down a dark hallway. His hand was strong and large, larger than she imagined.

He guided her to an open-aired space next to a lake. A breeze rushed past them, making Christine shiver. Her thin dressing gown did not offer much warmth.

She heard the sound of a match striking, and presently a small lantern lit the catacombs. The Angel turned, showing himself to her for the first time.

The first thing Christine noticed was his white mask, glowing eerily in the candlelight. It covered half his face, making her conjecture what he concealed. The rest of his face was normal. His perfectly combed hair was dark, and his tuxedo was in immaculate condition.

He held out his hand to her. "Come with me," he whispered. She walked forward as if in a dream and slid her hand into his. He helped her into a gondola-like boat and stood on the stern, directing the craft with a long pole. It was almost completely silent for the duration of the voyage. Christine spoke only once.

"What is your name?"

"Erik," he answered. "Erik."

He docked the gondola next to a fantastic, mesmerizing place.

Christine's first impression was that thousands of candles filled the lair. Looking closer, she saw other things. An organ, covered with scores of music. A full-length mirror sheltered with a sheet. A throne-like cathedra. A musical box, with a monkey balanced on the cover.

Erik helped her out of the gondola and walked to the organ. Playing a few notes, he said in a convincing, alluring voice, "Sing for me." Christine opened her lips and began to vocalize. The sound that came out was like nothing she had ever heard or made herself. It was powerful and terrible and stunning all at once.

"Sing, my angel of music," Erik whispered. She sensed, rather than felt, her voice go higher and higher until she was singing a C— two octaves above middle C. "Sing for me!"

Then her voice went to the peak of her range: an E, two octaves above middle C.

It scared her, knowing that Erik had somehow made her voice reach that note, and she broke off. "Christine…" Erik left the organ and came closer to her, but she backed away. He looked frustrated, thinking hard. Then he seemed to light onto a thought.

He began to sing.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation._

_Darkness wakes and stirs imagination._

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write…_

_For I compose the Music of the Night._

His voice was captivating, surrounding Christine like mist.

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

Erik came close to her and stroked her hair back from her shoulder. He put his hand under her chin and gently lifted it up, staring into her eyes.

_Hearing is believing, music is deceiving_

_Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight…_

_Dare you trust the Music of the Night_

_Close your eyes,_

_For your eyes will only tell the truth,_

_And the truth isn't what you want to see_

_In the dark it is easy to pretend_

_But the truth is what it ought to be_

_Softly, deftly_

_Music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you_

He beckoned Christine forward, to the open gate. If it were closed, it would have blocked half of his lair. With a flick of his hand, Erik drew the gate down.

_Open up your mind_

_Let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness which you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the Music of the Night_

Then his tender demeanor changed into anger. Erik began to walk nearer to her, making her back away. Christine somehow knew he was thinking about Raoul. Erik wanted her to forget Raoul, and live for only him. She averted her gaze.

_Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before_

_Close your eyes and let music set you free_

Erik's voice grew gentle and pleading again.

_Only then can you belong to me…_

Erik came behind her and put his arm across her collarbone, resting her head in the crook of his arm. Christine raised her hand and touched his face, letting it linger.

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication,_

_Touch me, trust me_

_Savor each sensation_

He walked over to the mirror and pulled off the sheet. In the reflection, Christine saw herself dressed in a wedding dress and veil. Her skin started to crawl. _This is what he wants_.

_Let the dream begin,_

_Let your darker side give in,_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the Music of the Night_

Then her mirror-self moved, and everything blacked out.

Somehow, in a subconscious state, Christine heard Erik sing two more lines of the haunting song.

_You alone can make my song take flight_

_Help me make the Music of the Night…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Four_: The Monster Behind the Man

Christine woke on a luxurious Turkish settee, in a room lit with candles. For a moment, she did not know where she was.

Then she remembered. The mirror, the mask, the gondola, the wedding gown_. Erik._

Christine sat up and looked around cautiously. The room was littered with scores of music, pages and pages of composition. She picked up one sheet and read: _Past the point of no return / the final threshold_. The words made no sense to her. She stood and opened the door.

Erik was sitting at the organ, furiously writing. He would stop every so often to play a few notes, and then inscribe them on the staff.

Her curiosity came back. _I wonder what he conceals behind the mask…_ She stepped directly behind Erik, but he did not notice her.

She reached out to the right side of his face but hesitated. Then she regained confidence, and lifted the mask off his face.

Erik turned instantly.

The right side of his face was horribly disfigured. Christine could see bone, sinew and part of his skull. She flinched and turned away as he started to bellow curses, the mask clattering to the floor.

"You little Pandora! You Delilah!" he shouted. "Is this what you wanted to see? Is this what you want?" She could not answer and ran to the gate. Erik followed her and seized her wrists, forcing her to turn and look directly at his face. "Look!" he snarled. "Look at what you have _done_, you demon!" Christine could only stare back as his face was burned into her memory.

Suddenly Erik seemed disgusted with himself, and let her go. Christine sank to the ground, rubbing her wrists. "If you only could know… what has become of the world, because of this face," he said softly.

His mask was lying a few feet from where Christine was sitting. She picked it up gently, gazing at it. How much had this man suffered, just because of his appearance?

For the first time since Christine had met Erik, she pitied him.

She slowly extended her arm, offering him the mask. He looked piteous and distressed before he turned and put on the mask. Then he stood. "I will take you back to the opera house."

Something in his expression mystified Christine. It was a look of captivation and rapture. It was an expression of love.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Five_: The Diva of the Opera

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><p>The day after the gala performance, Raoul received an anonymous note.<p>

_Do not fear for Mademoiselle Daaé's safety. The Angel of Music is ensuring her protection. Do not see her again, or a catastrophe beyond your imagination will occur._

The only thing Raoul could think of was the conversation he overheard from outside her dressing room door, but he dismissed it. Raoul asked everyone he could think of about Christine's whereabouts. It finally came down to the managers: Firmin and André.

When he burst into the managers' office later that day, Firmin and André were sitting at their desks reading memorandums. Copies of the _Le Temps_ newspaper lay on their desks. The front headline read "Mystery after Gala Flight", an article written by the journalist Sûreté.

"Where is she?" Raoul demanded.

"Who are you talking about?" André replied, irritated. "Carlotta?"

Raoul composed himself. "I am speaking of Christine Daaé, who has been missing for an entire day."

Firmin threw down the notes he was holding. "I have no idea, and the journalists are eating it up. We've been made into a laughing-stock."

"If you do not know her whereabouts, how do you explain this note?" Raoul replied, holding up the mysterious message. André snatched the note from Raoul's hand and skimmed it. "If you sent it, I trust you know the secret of her location, monsieurs."

"Why on earth would we send threatening letters if we didn't even know where the girl was?" Firmin snapped. "How—"

Carlotta flung open the door and stormed in, Piangi following her like a pampered dog. "Where is he?" Carlotta cried.

"It's good to see you too, signora," André muttered dryly.

Carlotta caught sight of Raoul and shrieked a curse. "You! You hide behind your status as patron, and you dare to send me a note threatening my career!" She looked ready to strangle Raoul with her fur scarf. If the situation was under different circumstances— and Raoul not her target— he might have found the situation amusing.

As it was, he replied with sarcasm. "Of course I would send a note telling you to destroy your career! What do you _think_?"

"Why would you send it if not to support that _dancer_?" Carlotta spat out the word as if it were the worst insult imaginable and thrust the note in his hand.

_Your days at the opera house are numbered, signora. If you attempt to replace Mademoiselle Daaé tonight in the lead role tonight, a great misfortune shall occur to you._

Firmin sighed loudly. "Enough! Monsieurs, signora, will everyone _please_ leave the office?" André aided him in attempting to lead everyone out of the room. They opened the door to see Madame Giry and Meg standing in the hallway.

Madame Giry spoke. "Mademoiselle Daaé has returned, monsieurs."

"Where is she?" Raoul asked immediately. "May I speak with her?"

"She returned to her home to rest, lord vicomte," Meg said, curtsying quickly. "She will speak with no one."

"Will she sing tonight?" Carlotta said, Piangi looking eagerly over her shoulder.

"I do not know, signora, signor." Madame Giry raised her hand to reveal a note. Firmin groaned and took it from her hand.

"_Good afternoon, gentlemen_," he read. "_I have sent several memorandums describing how my theatre should be run. However, it seems my requests are not being fulfilled. I will give you one more chance. They must be accomplished by this evening's performance of _Il Muto_._

"_I assume Madame Giry has told you of Mademoiselle Daaé's return. She has returned for the purpose of taking Signora Giudicelli's place as the lead in the performance. Mademoiselle Daaé will be performing the role of the Countess, while Signora Giudicelli will be in the role of Serafimo the Pageboy— the silent role._

"_I will be attending the performance from my customary seat in Box Five. Fulfill these requests, and a disaster will not occur tonight._"

"I told you!" Carlotta exclaimed. "The patron, the dancer's lover, is behind this! It is a ploy to further Christine's career and replace me! _Traditori! Mentitori! Tu mi hai abbandonato, caduto in disgrazia a me, mi ha lasciato a morire!_"

She turned and shoving past them all, burst out of the office to the foyer. The managers and Piangi followed her.

"Signora, wait!" André called after her. "We have not replaced you, signora!"

Firmin stopped Carlotta. "_You_ will perform the lead tonight! _Christine_ will be in the silent role!"

"You cannot attempt to please me! You have gone too far!" Carlotta cried. Without warning, she collapsed into Piangi's arms and began to sob.

"Your public, you devotees, you supporters, they need you!" André said. "They have been waiting for you to perform, signora!"

He elbowed Firmin. Firmin said in a hurried, unconvincing voice, "We need you, too!"

"Am I just a replacement until your _precious_ ingénue can perform again?" Carlotta spat.

"No, signora! The _world_ wants to see their _prima donna_ perform. Show them you cannot be beaten down."

"The audience will be on their knees, begging you to sing for them!" André said. "They will be shouting your name; the lines leading to the opera doors will be miles long!"

Carlotta looked up slowly. "Truly, monsieurs? Christine will not perform tonight?"

"Of course, signora! The public wants to see _you_ onstage, not a chorus girl! You will shine during the finale of numerous encores!"

Raoul turned to Madame Giry. He spoke quietly. "Is there any way these demands could be rejected?"

She shook her head. "Not that I know of. The managers will make a grave mistake if they cast Signora Giudicelli in the lead."

Carlotta finally composed herself and flounced away, singing to her heart's content. The managers turned to Raoul.

"I'm not completely sure you are innocent," André said slyly. "You must have been with the girl. There's no other explanation."

Raoul was incensed. "Why on earth would you think _I_ sent those notes? I had nothing to do with it!"

"I _told_ you he would demur," Firmin said in a smug tone.

"I will be in Box Five for the performance," Raoul continued, ignoring Firmin's comment. "I will make sure Mademoiselle Daaé is safe, which is more than _you_ can do, monsieurs." However rash his words were, Raoul knew the managers would not rebuke him; they needed his money. Even so, he decided to leave as quickly as possible.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope I made some sense from the chaos that is "Prima Donna". The song is wonderful, but I can never understand what is going on.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Five_: A Devastating Performance

**Paris, France, June 22, 1881: **_**Later That Day**_

* * *

><p>The evening performance came much too quickly for everyone. Raoul was on tenterhooks the rest of the afternoon, convinced the phantom would pull another disaster from under them.<p>

The audience was noisily filling the auditorium, their gossip covering the orchestra's attempts to tune their instruments. Behind the curtain, the performers went to their directed positions onstage.

"Remember, dancer: _I_ am the _prima donna_ here, and will remain so," Carlotta hissed to Christine before going to the wings. Christine held her gaze and said nothing. The singer sniffed disdainfully and strutted off the stage.

_Please, father_, Christine prayed as the orchestra started to play the overture. _Please let nothing go wrong_.

The curtain swung open.

Carlotta led Meg, Piangi and the other chorus members onstage. They all sang loudly and extravagantly, as if nothing were wrong. Carlotta recited her line to the silent Christine: "Serafimo, your disguise is perfect." Christine smiled hugely and tried to make her merriment genuine as the knocking came from offstage, right on cue. Carlotta addressed the audience: "Who can this be?"

Piangi entered, his face covered in the horrible makeup that was required for the part, and sang his stanza. A shadow moved through the rafters. Christine tried to ignore it.

As Carlotta sang her line, Christine tossed the huge, hideous maid's cap off her head while Carlotta ripped the skirt off her waist and tossed it to a corner, revealing Christine's breeches. Christine made the required hand motions and movements as Carlotta and the chorus sang.

Out of nowhere and everyone at once, Erik's voice echoed loudly across the auditorium. "Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept _empty_?"

Everyone froze. _Keep Raoul safe, father. Please_. Without meaning to, Christine spoke. "It's Erik… I know it's him."

Carlotta snatched Christine's hand and led her to the bed, preparing to restart the stanza. "Your part is silent, you toad!" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"A toad, signora?" Erik's voice answered, making everyone jump. "Maybe it is _you_ who are the toad…"

Carlotta sang the beginning of the stanza, shaken.

_Serafimo, away with this pretence!_

_You cannot speak, but kiss me in my—_

Without warning, a croak left her mouth.

Dead silence filled the auditorium.

Carlotta attempted to restart at a different part of the song.

_Poor fool, he makes me laugh—_

This time, the croaking would not stop.

Pandemonium covered the stage. The sound of insane, frenzied laughter began quietly, but gradually built until it rang thunderously around the auditorium. André ran onstage as the performers scattered. "Ladies and gentlemen! The performance will restart in ten minutes!" His gaze flickered to the rafters. "Christine Daaé will be performing the role of the Countess. In the meantime, _Dance of the Country Nymphs_, the ballet from Act…" He flipped through the program nervously. "Act Three of _Il Muto_ will be performed." He ran offstage as the chorus girls danced onstage.

They had been dancing for five minutes when a scream broke over the music. A body tumbled from the rafters, hanging from a noose.

Joseph Buquet.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Six_: La Victorie Aliée

**Paris, France, June 22, 1881**

* * *

><p>Turmoil filled the entire auditorium.<p>

"Raoul!" Christine appeared out of nowhere, dressed in the costume of the Countess, and took his wrist. "I know where we can go!" Raoul followed her through the crowd to a nondescript door, which she flung open and pushed him through the threshold. "Follow the staircase to the roof and wait for me by the _La Victorie Aliée_ figure. Hurry!" He did not question her but followed her instructions. After he had gone some steps ahead of her, Christine locked the door and followed him up the stairs at a run.

A few moments later, Raoul opened the old metal door and entered the roof. A moment later, Christine burst through the opening. "Christine, what on earth is going on?" Raoul demanded.

"Joseph Buquet was murdered by the phantom. I know it was Erik! No one else has a Punjab lasso!"

"The phantom?" Raoul repeated, comprehension dawning. "The opera ghost who has been sending the notes through Madame Giry?"

"Yes!" Christine looked desperate, her perfectly styled hair blowing in the warm summer wind. "Buquet's death was because of me! If I hadn't listened to Erik, if I hadn't gone to the catacombs, Buquet would never have seen me leaving and he would still be alive!"

The strain and fear showed clearly on her face. Overwhelmed by everything leading up to the night's events, her strong façade finally broke and she started to sob. Christine sank to the ground, clutching the cape at her shoulders. Raoul knelt next to her. "Christine, none of this is your fault. The _phantom_ killed Buquet; you had no part in it whatsoever."

"I brought this curse onto everyone!" Christine said brokenly.

"No, you did not. You did not cause anything." Raoul gently raised her chin and looked her in the eyes. "Listen to me, Christine: _it is all the phantom's doing_. All of it. Nothing is your fault."

Christine looked up, guilt still evident in her eyes. "Do you really think so?"

"Completely." There were still traces of teardrops on her face. Raoul raised his hand to her cheek. "Here..." He carefully brushed the trails of tears from her face. Christine seemed to draw strength from his touch. She stood unsteadily and touched his hand as he stood to join her.

"Thank you, Raoul. You have been very kind to me." She gave him a shaky smile and turned to leave.

Then she turned back and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Raoul felt very clearly that terror and confusion were flooding her emotions.

She clung to him, desperately. "I've seen things, terrible, horrifying things that are beyond my imagination. They have been burned into my memory, Raoul. I will never be free of these living nightmares. I can never get them out of my head. I always see horrible things in the shadows. They will never leave me alone; they will always haunt me in the corner of my mind."

"It's because of the phantom, isn't it," Raoul murmured, stroking her hair.

She pulled out of his embrace and crossed to the edge of the roof, looking at the panorama of the city of Paris. "I've seen his face, Raoul; his true, unmasked face. I cannot get the sight of it out of my mind. And no matter what you say, this curse _is_ happening because of me."

Raoul stepped closer to her. "Why do you insist it is, Christine?" She continued to face away from him. She spoke in a whisper.

"He wants to marry me."

Raoul froze.

"That's why he is killing and destroying. He's trying to win my love, in his twisted, insane way." She sounded bitter. "Because I haven't given him an answer yet."

"What is your answer?"

Christine finally faced him. "I can't. I do not love him. He terrorizes me and threatens me. I cannot live underground for the rest of my life. I cannot be his prisoner-wife for my entire life. I cannot live with someone who loved me for my voice. I cannot live with someone I didn't love."

Raoul saw Christine clearly, for a split second.

He saw a woman who was being threatened, countless times. He saw a woman who wanted to be known for who she was as a person, not just as a singer. He saw a woman whose image of her beloved father was being destroyed. He saw a woman who desperately wanted to leave everything associated with the night. She wanted to live where there was light, hope and love, not shadows, misery and hate.

The moment passed. Raoul returned to the present, on the rooftop of an opera house, where a man had been murdered.

He took her hand in his. "Christine, I can take you away from all this. You can leave all the darkness, all the hate. Just say the word, and I will arrange for you to leave the opera."

"Promise me you are telling the truth." Raoul nodded, holding her gaze. "All I ask is for you to do one thing for me. Please love me."

"I always have, Christine. Ever since I saw you on the shore, all those years ago."

"Raoul… thank you, thank you so much." Christine's eyes glimmered and blazed with a fierce love.

He somehow knew what he was going to say, even before the words left his mouth.

"Marry me."

As Christine leaned forward and kissed him, they both had the same feeling: the proposal was not rushed or ill timed. They had loved each other for years, even though they were separated. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes." She drew back. "Take me away from this horrible, nightmare-filled place and never let us be separated. We've spent too many years apart."

"I can arrange everything by tomorrow," Raoul answered. "Just say the word and we will leave."

Christine nodded. "I can survive one more day." She seemed incredibly strong to him in that moment.

"We should go," Raoul whispered. Christine nodded reluctantly. She took his hand in her soft one and led him to the metal door.

Raoul stopped and reached inside his coat pocket. He drew out a small ring adorned with a simple diamond. "I want you to have this."

Then, from the corner of the roof, came a ghostly wail of anguish.

They froze, listening hard. Without speaking Raoul transferred the ring onto Christine's finger. She smiled at him and opened the door. They quickly went down the steps.

Raoul and Christine entered the backstage area unnoticed. Christine gave Raoul a secret smile before leaving for the _Il Muto_ curtain call. Raoul made his way to Box Five. The audience applauded somewhat enthusiastically as the performers stepped onto the stage. Raoul noticed Christine was dressed the costume of the Countess, and Carlotta was conspicuously absent.

As the cast made their bows, cries suddenly broke out amongst the audience.

The chandelier was shaking violently. It dropped inch by inch, almost as if the fastenings were loosening on their own will. Then, starting slow and gradually building speed, the chandelier swung towards the stage.

Raoul, standing the hallway that led to Box Five, knew he had seconds. He turned around and sprinted to the stage, pushing desperately through the crowd. As the chandelier swung closer and closer, Raoul heard the phantom's insane laughter echoing in his mind. He pushed it out of his mind. He had just found Christine; he would not lose her again.

He finally entered the stage. He saw Christine, standing frozen amidst the scattering performers. He reached her and pulled her off the stage.

Raoul pushed Christine to the ground and covered her head with his arm as the chandelier finally hit the stage. It exploded into bits of shattered glass, covering everything in sight. "Keep your eyes closed!" he shouted. It seemed like they laid there for hours, as the echoes of the screams and the sound of the glass resonated.

Eventually the sounds died away.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Seven_: The Masque Ball

**Paris, France, January 1, 1882**

* * *

><p>The clock had just turned to midnight, spinning the world to the New Year, as Christine entered the opera's magnificent foyer. Several actors and patrons congratulated her on her newest performance in December of 1881, in the opera's production of Mozart's <em>La Finta Giardiniera<em>. She politely thanked them. When she saw Raoul, she smiled and walked towards him.

Much had changed in the six months since the sole performance of _Il Muto _in June of 1881. Carlotta had taken a leave of absence, and Christine, by the managers' request, took the _prima donna's_ place until she returned.

Directly after the performance of _La Finta Giardiniera_, the managers had come from behind the curtain. They announced the opera house would, on the eve of the New Year, play host to a grand, extravagant masked ball, a fête, a masquerade; it was an ideal way to lift the spirits of the Parisian nobility. The nobility had taken to the idea like ducks to water. The opera performers were left to find old, unused costumes out of the Wardrobe Department. As she was the temporary lead performer of the opera, the wardrobe mistress had given Christine two choices. One costume was a silver dress with an argentate feather headdress. The other was a hideous dress, with a lavender bodice and rosy skirt. Christine had always gotten the sense that the wardrobe mistress did not approve of her, for whatever reason. Therefore, when she had chosen the silver dress, it mysteriously had "ripped beyond repair" and the only available dress was the pink-and-purple monster of a costume. It looked hideous, but there were no other options.

Christine now wore Raoul's engagement ring on a light chain around her neck. In the beginning, she did not even want her to carry it with her, in apprehension of the phantom would discover their engagement. Raoul understood and agreed with her concern, but compromised by having her wearing it on a chain, not her ring finger. There was less chance of Erik discovering them that way.

Erik, the opera ghost, the angel of music, the phantom: the ballet dancers called him many things, but the subject of their gossip had mysteriously vanished from the happenings of the opera since the performance of _Il Muto_. Christine was grateful for the peace his absence brought, but she knew the serenity could not last forever. Everyone in the opera knew the phantom was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Thankfully, he remained hidden. Nevertheless, the opera staff had been on their guard ever since the disastrous performance of _Il Muto_.

Christine shook herself. She had not been to a party since she accepted the job at the opera. She would spend the entire evening with Raoul, and she was determined to push all thoughts of the phantom out of her mind.

As she reached him, Raoul smiled and offered his arm. "You look beautiful, Christine."

Christine took his arm and walked with him to the Grand Ballroom. "You don't have to lie. You and I both know this dress is a disaster."

"_You_ make the dress look beautiful. You could be wearing rags, and you would still be the most beautiful woman in the room."

Christine smiled. "Thank you, Raoul." They entered the ballroom unnoticed, scanning the swirling mass of dancers. Christine glimpsed Meg, looking unhappy in the arms of an unknown patron, and Cecile Jammes, who had a glass of champagne and was flirting with another patron.

"Would you care to dance, Mademoiselle Daaé of Uppsala?" Raoul said, bowing.

"I would be honored, Lord de Chagny of Perros-Guirec," Christine answered in kind, trying to keep a straight face. She was unsuccessful, and broke into a delighted smile as Raoul took her hand and led her into the dance. As they danced, all Christine knew was the glittering candle flames all around them, Raoul's hand in hers, the music that swirled around them as they circled through the room.

Without warning, the music and the dancers stopped, almost as if they were responding to a signal. Christine and Raoul turned, their eyes locking on the opera's grand staircase in the foyer.

A figure dressed in blood-red fur and velvet robes slowly descended the flight of stairs. His grinning, eerie mask was of the Red Death; his eyes burned through the gargantuan, grotesque skull.

The phantom had returned to his opera.

Erik addressed the managers in a mocking, dry tone. "Quite a success, monsieurs! Did you think you could keep me at bay?" Out of nowhere, he produced a manuscript and tossed it to the managers. Christine's memory immediately flashed to the page of music she had seen, in the room with the Turkish settee. "I have written an opera for you, monsieurs, which I expect you to produce. Make sure to follow _all_ of my instructions, or I may have to send you a little, ah, _reminder_." His gaze flickered to the repaired chandelier, and the managers paled.

Then he looked at the mass of dancers. The crowd parted until Christine could see a clear path to the staircase.

Abruptly, Christine felt a strong urge to walk to the phantom. In a subconscious part of her mind, the part that was still hers, she knew it was a trick, an illusion, of Erik's. The subconscious voice fought against the force as best it could. In the end, Erik won, as he always did. She walked forward, hating every step.

When she came close to him, she saw hate and anger in Erik's dark eyes, making her shudder. His fury, she realized, focused on her revealed engagement ring. There was no point of trying to hide it; the phantom now knew of their engagement.

His hand suddenly moved to her throat, to the ring balancing there. With a single movement, he savagely broke the chain from her neck and clutched the ring. Eric spoke quietly, but everyone in the room heard his venomous words.

"Your chains are still mine, my angel. You will sing for me _alone_."

With a flash of unbearable light, he disappeared. Then he appeared on the top of the staircase, laughing madly, and then vanished for good.

Christine turned and pushed through the crowd to Raoul. He instantly embraced her. She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to look at anything.

"What have I done?" she murmured. "What have I _done_?"

Raoul stroked her hair, horrified by what had just occurred. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madame Giry, a culpable expression on her face, disappearing through a side door.

He looked at Christine. "Christine, if I am going to discover anything about the phantom, I have to go." He kissed her briefly, looking her in the eyes, and left.

* * *

><p>Raoul walked as quickly as he could to the side door where Madame Giry had entered. The hallway was dark, but from the light of a taper, he saw a black-clad figure.<p>

"Madame Giry!"

She hesitated and tried to dissuade him. "Lord vicomte, please don't ask me anything. I don't know any more than anyone else."

"_Please_, madame. You are our only hope if we are ever going to vanquish the phantom."

"I…" He saw uncertainty in her eyes, and finally she came to a decision. "Very well.

"It was… years ago, lord vicomte. There was a traveling festival, a circus-like fair, which came to Paris during the winter of 1879. _Le Cirque Incroyable de Freaks_. There were magic-workers, trapeze-flyers, animal-tamers. And… there was a man— the memory has never left me, lord vicomte, even after all this time. There was a man locked in a cage, treated no better than an animal…"

"A _cage_?" As much as Raoul hated the phantom, he felt a moment of pity for him.

Madame Giry nodded, looking faintly ill. "He was a composing phenomenon. He was a musician, a scholar, an architect. He built a labyrinth of mirrors for the Persian Sultan." In his mind's eye, Raoul saw images.

_A hunched man. A bag covering his head, faceless silhouettes mocking him. In a vicious movement, the bag torn from his head, and the silhouettes recoiling, hissing and jeering. The bended man shrinking away even further, his hands over his head._

Madame Giry continued, breaking Raoul's vision. "He was the attraction of the circus. A freak. Deformed, hideous. He was more of a monster than a human.

"He mysteriously escaped from the circus, not long after I saw him there. The manager of the circus reported him to be dead."

"But he survived…"

She turned. "I have told you too much, lord vicomte. If you gain too much knowledge…" She hurried off into the darkness, leaving Raoul with his thoughts spinning.

_Who_ is _this man? How can humans hate each other with such fervor, just because of physical appearances?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Eight_: Christine's Decision

**Paris, France, January 2, 1882**

* * *

><p>They were all looking at the music the next day, Carlotta, Piangi, the managers. Multiple copies of the <em>Don Juan Triumphant<em> score had appeared in the managers' office.

"This is ludicrous!" André exclaimed, throwing the music on the desk. "Simply preposterous!"

"Complete lunacy!" Firmin said. "But we can't refuse to produce the opera. He'll do worse things than destroy the chandelier again."

André, frustrated, sat down at his desk and caught sight of two new notes bearing the phantom's calligraphy. He groaned and picked up the memo bearing his name.

_My greetings, Monsieur André. I will be direct: the First Bassoon and the Third Trombone are appalling, and need to be replaced with a musician who can hold a good tone._

Firmin read a similar note: _Monsieur Firmin, some of your actors are dreadful, and as such, they have minor roles in my opera. Make sure the director have them make an effort to improve their virtually nonexistent acting abilities._

"This is an outrage!" Carlotta snapped from her position by the wall. "I have one solo! This rubbish of a part stretches for _two_ measures only! It is an insult to my career! If the audience demands this sort of 'art', then I quit!"

"Signora—" The door opened, and Christine and Raoul entered. Christine looked striking in a richly colored blue dress, but her pale face and red eyes betrayed the hours spent in agonizing worry.

Carlotta sneered and spoke in an undertone to Piangi, but loud enough so everyone could here. "She's nothing but an undeveloped _chorus girl_ with an untrained voice; she can't sing it." Christine gave Carlotta a swift, hate-filled glance and deliberately turned to the managers.

Firmin picked up one score and handed it to her. "You have secured the largest role in _Don Juan Triumphant_, mademoiselle."

Carlotta, seething, finally exploded and started shrieking at Christine. "You! You are the one behind this plot to take the lead, to destroy my career!"

Christine whirled around and rounded at the Italian soprano. "How _dare_ you accuse me of coming up with this scheme! I don't want this anymore than you do; you evil, vain, conceited—"

"_Christine_." Raoul took her arm and forced her back a few steps. "This isn't helping anything."

Christine turned to Raoul, anger filling her dark eyes. "I will not perform this, Raoul. I don't _care_ if I have an obligation to sing it!"

Madame Giry entered the managers' office, another note in her hand. She led it up, inciting groans. She opened it and read the words aloud.

"_Good day to you all. I have a few instructions before you begin rehearsal for my opera._

"_First, make sure Carlotta knows what the meaning of acting is. She must perform, not strut on the stage. Second, Piangi must lose some weight if he wishes to keep the lead. Third, managers, stay in your office at your desks; do not mix business with the Arts._" All four people mentioned stayed where they were, fuming silently.

"_As for Mademoiselle Daaé_…"

Christine paled noticeably.

"…_she is the best choice for the role of Aminta, there is no doubt of that; she is an exceptional singer and actress. However, if she wishes to excel in her career, she must continue lessons with her devoted teacher— _if_ her pride will allow it_."

As André snatched the note and threw it in the fire, Raoul murmured, "We've all been completely blind…"

"What did you say, lord vicomte?" Firmin asked.

"The phantom has set a trap within _Don Juan Triumphant_. If we perform his opera, we could have the chance to capture him."

"Go on…"

"We shall play by his rules— for _almost_ all the game. If Christine sings, without a doubt he will attend. If we plan it thoroughly…"

"…we could end his Reign of Terror." André finished. An uneasy silence fell over the room.

"This is madness!" Madame Giry exclaimed. "Insanity! You cannot turn the table, monsieurs!"

Raoul turned to her. "If you help us, with your knowledge of his past…"

She gave him a sharp look. "Lord vicomte, you know I cannot…"

"Is the real reason you cannot is because you are his _adherent_?" André asked.

Madame Giry's eyes grew wide in shock."No, monsieur. I could never support him. I intend no one harm. But you must be careful in how you approach this, monsieurs. Buquet's death was meant to be a warning…"

"If we say he will fall, then he will be destroyed, madame!"

"If he does not, monsieurs? How will you capture him then? His fury, his hate, knows no bounds. You know that, monsieurs."

"It all comes down to Mademoiselle Daaé."

All eyes turned to the pale Swedish singer. She announced her decision calmly. "I cannot."

Everyone except Raoul and Christine began talking loudly, madly. Christine sat down, looking ill as the noise rose in volume and duration and pitch. It began to sound as if a flock of birds were vociferously screeching. Christine put her hands over her ears and bending forward slightly, pain covering her features.

As the clamor grew louder and more unbearable, she finally let forth a great cry of agony: "_Stop_! If you don't stop, I will go mad!"

Everyone stopped talking and looked at her as she got up and paced anxiously. Raoul took a step towards her, but she moved out of his path.

"I cannot go through this, this torment by flames. The plan will fail and he will take me down to his lair, and never let me go until I die. Now, what other answer can I give you? Of course I have to do this; there is no other way. He cannot go on killing without thought. But he gave me my voice; my father sent him. How can I betray him? I know I have to go through with this, but how I wish I could refuse. I wish I could reject the horrors that wait for me, in this, the phantom's opera…"

"Christine…" Raoul moved forward and gently took her hand. "All I care for is your safety. But the _only_ way you can escape the phantom for good is to go through with this plan."

Christine shook her head and ran from the managers' office. Raoul made to follow her, but Madame Giry put a hand on his arm. "Do not follow her, lord vicomte. She has yet to make a final decision." Raoul gazed down the hallway where Christine had disappeared and sighed. Madame Giry was right, but Raoul felt guilt for pressuring the enormous decision on Christine.

* * *

><p>Later that day, the company of the Opéra Populaire gathered in a large unused room to rehearse <em>Don Juan Triumphant<em>. Christine entered a few minutes late and sat in her designated place in the front row, looking pale and despondent. Her entrance made the impression that her decision had been affirmative. She seemed, however, to put her feelings aside and focused on learning the music.

Everyone in the company was frustrated with the score, with good reason. The notes were disjuncted and halting. It could have had a fine tune if the company would figure out the parts and sing the notes correctly. The company struggled through one stanza.

_Hide your sword now, wounded knight!_

_Your vainglorious gasconade_

_Brought you to your final fight_

_For your pride, high price you've paid!_

Christine came in with her solo

_Silken couch and hay-filled barn_

_Both have been his battlefield._

Then Piangi sang the phrase he got wrong every time he sang it: "_Those who tangle with Don Juan…_" He pronounced the "tan-" in the word "tangle" like the "ton-" in the word "tonsil".

"Signor Piangi!" Monsieur Reyer interrupted the tenor. "_This_ is the phrase: _those who _tan_gle with Don Juan_… It is _tan_, not _ton_. Once more."

Piangi obeyed, but still sang it wrong. Monsieur Reyer sighed, frustrated. "Practice it, signor! _Those who_ tan_gle_, _tan_, _tan_…"

"_Those who ton, ton, ton_…"

"His way is better!" Carlotta said from her place next to Piangi. "At least he makes this rubbish _sound_ like music!"

"Signora!" Madame Giry said sharply. "I do not think you would speak that way if the composer were here in this room."

"The composer isn't here! And if he were, I would tell him—"

Madame Giry cut her off. "Are you sure of that, signora?" Carlotta stopped, glancing around the room uneasily, and quieted.

"Once again, monsieurs, mademoiselles," Monsieur Reyer called over the chatter. "On seven, then— five, six, seven…"

Piangi sang the phrase, still wrong. Carlotta spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "The audience will not know if it is wrong. No one will _care_ if it is wrong!"

Piangi turned to Christine who sat next to him. "Is it right, signorina?"

"Almost, signor," Christine said as gently as she could. "_Tan_gle, signor. _Tan_gle."

Monsieur Reyer banged on the piano keys. He tossed the _Don Juan Triumphant_ score on the top of the piano and left the instrument, trying to attract attention to restart the rehearsal.

Then the keys began to move on their own accord, playing the music properly. The entire company began to sing woodenly and robotically— all except Christine.

_Poor young maiden!_

_For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets,_

_You will have to pay the bill—_

_Tangled in the winding sheets!_

Christine moved unnoticed out of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Nine_: The Violin and the Mausoleum

**Paris, France, January 2, 1882: **_**That Night**_

* * *

><p>Christine stepped out of the opera's doors. A bitter breeze was blowing through the street. She pulled her cape closer around her shoulders, shielding the delicate flowers she held from the cruel wind, and hailed a carriage.<p>

The ride to the cemetery was short. A song Christine's father had taught her in her childhood echoed in her mind. She sang the words softly.

_Little Lotte thought_

_Of everything and nothing..._

_Her father promised her_

_That he would send her the Angel of Music..._

_Her father promised her..._

Christine's voice cracked slightly as she repeated the last line.

_Her father promised her..._

The coach stopped at the cemetery gates. Christine gave the driver a handful of coins and stepped out onto the snow-covered ground as it clattered back to Paris.

She had memorized the path to her father's grave years ago, ever since she started setting aside trips to visit his tombstone. A turn here, a corner there, and she arrived at his grave.

The words etched on the smooth stone were faint, nearly worn away by time. _Charles Adolphe Daaé, beloved father and guide_. Christine always thought the words were cold and lifeless, not at all like the spirited man who she had loved for twenty years. There was a violin carved into the stone; it seemed to taunt her, that she would never hear the strings of his well-loved violin make beautiful music.

She carefully laid the spray of flowers just below the words. "I didn't forget, father," she said softly. "I came back. Are you happy?"

She paced as she spoke. "I met Raoul again. We became engaged during the summer of last year. You always said we would marry, and you are turning out of be right. You were also right about another thing." Her voice cracked again. "The Angel of Music came to me. He gave me a voice beyond imagining.

"But you were wrong about one thing, father. He is not an angel. He is a monster, a man who kills without a thought." She turned to face the grave, furious. "You promised the Angel of Music would be sent by you. He isn't. He wants to marry me! Why would an _angel_ want to marry me?"

An unbearable anger suddenly filled her body. In a blind rage, she picked up a stone and hurled it again the tombstone. It bounded off, making a small scar on the stone violin.

"You promised you would protect me! _You promised_! Now I have to go through a plan that may get me killed, just because I want to live! How is that _protection_?"

She stood there, enraged, staring at the carved words that suddenly repulsed her. Her thoughts were spiraling haphazardly.

_I adulated my father, worshipped him, and to what result? He was human. He promised me the moon, the stars, and he never followed through with his promise. How is the "Angel of Music" any different?_

"Father…" The word was a breathy sigh. She began again. "Father, I was wrong to trust you and your word completely. You didn't send the Angel of Music. Erik lied to me. He got me to trust him, under the guise of your order.

"Will you forgive me if I let your spirit go?"

Of course she did not expect a response. The wind did not whisper anything as it rushed past, not the trees as their leaves shook. However, she felt a weight lifted off her shoulders, a weight she had never known to be there.

"Drifting, helpless child…"

Christine tensed.

"You long for my guidance, my leadership, don't you?"

Why did Erik have to come _now_?

The strains of a vaporous violin came on the back of the wind. "_What are you_?" Christine demanded, staring at a large marble mausoleum from which the voice emitted. "How can you be human if you have done all this?"

"Come to me, my beautiful Angel of _Music_…"

"How can you use that? Knowing that it was from my father, knowing you were deceiving me every time you spoke!"

"Forget everything, Christine. Just forget…"

Once again, she felt the enchantment of the phantom, the spell that demanded she walk to Erik. She resisted fiercely, but for the second time, Erik won.

Then Raoul appeared out of nowhere. _Did he follow me to the cemetery?_ Whatever had happened, it did not matter.

"Stop deceiving her!" Raoul called furiously at the direction of the mausoleum where the phantom hid. "Stop tormenting her with her father's memory, you _demon_ of cacophony!"

"I will _never_ stop." The phantom's voice echoed mockingly. He finally revealed himself, wearing a large black cloak that drowned him in darkness. "I will always be in your mind…"

Suddenly, the phantom raised his hand and threw something burning, unbearably bright. It was a ball of flames, of lightning. The spheres kept falling to the ground, landing just around the pair.

Christine seized his arm and dragged him back, but he shook his arm out of her hold. "You can't gain her love by making her your captive!"

The phantom disappeared, and his voice echoed from the voice of a stone cherub. "Are you coming to challenge me, monsieur? By all means."

Raoul reached inside his coat and drew out a pistol. He readied the revolver and fired a shot at the cherub, blasting off a portion of curling stone hair.

"Wrong direction, monsieur!" The phantom's contemptuous voice moved to another gravestone. Raoul pulled the trigger again, and the bullet drilled a hole in the smooth surface. "I'm here, monsieur. The phantom of the opera! You will never find me!" With each statement, his voice moved to a different position in the cemetery. Raoul lost all his cartridges attempting to find the owner of the voice.

"_Raoul_!" Christine wrenched the gun out of his hand. "Stop!"

He looked at her and seemed to come to his senses. Then he took her hand and led her out of the graveyard at a run. The last thing they heard was the phantom.

"It shall be war on you both!"

* * *

><p><strong>I didn't want Christine sobbing all over the place. She should get mad at least once.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Ten_: "Don Juan Triumphant"

**Paris, France, January 21, 1882**

* * *

><p>Christine was shaking as the seamstresses surrounded her and helped her into the costume. Her stomach was twisting itself on its own accord. The seamstresses parted until she could see her reflection in the mirror.<p>

Christine supposed the costume could be called attractive. However, the fact that she had to wear it in _Don Juan Triumphant_,and she had to be all but seduced wearing it, made her want to tear apart the cloth and burn it.

The callboy knocked on the door and called out, "Fifteen minutes until opening!" Christine felt nausea rising in her throat and fought it down. She murmured her thanks to the seamstresses and left. When she reached the backstage area of the stage, the space was filled with worried murmurs. The company made a path for her, as if determined to be immune to the phantom's curse. Through the wings, she caught glimpses of policemen stationed at every door in the auditorium. The chief of police came beside her and walked alongside her. Christine could have laughed if she wasn't so worried. _Do they really think a policeman would protect me from Erik?_

Almost as if responding to her thought, the policeman suddenly stumbled forward, his temple covered in blood. As the performers and more policemen surrounded the lifeless police officer, Christine slowly backed away.

She caught sight of Raoul and made her way towards him. "I suppose there's no way of canceling the performance, is there," she said softly. Raoul sighed and embraced her. The overture started— a horrible noise full of clashing notes.

Christine pulled out of the embrace, preparing to say the words that had been running through her head. "Raoul, I have to tell you something before I go onstage." Raoul nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. "Whatever happens out… there, whatever the phantom does, I want you to know I am acting. You know how I feel about this. If I could do something, anything, to stop the performance, I would. As it is, I cannot. Therefore, know that I am not in support of what I have to do onstage. I love _you_, Raoul. No one but you."

"I will by praying for you, Christine." He took her hand in his. "Make sure you come out of this alive, love."

She smiled shakily. "I will. And—"

A callboy came and tapped her shoulder. "Your cue is coming, Mademoiselle Daaé."

Christine quickly smiled and nodded at the callboy, and he left. She turned back to Raoul and kissed him briefly. Then she tore herself away, before she could reconsider her actions. She composed herself and stepped onstage, signing her solo.

_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy!_

_No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!_

She went to the table and picked up a shining, fake apple, tossing it gently. She heard the actor playing Passarino say his last line: "Master?"

The voice that answered did not belong to Piangi.

_Passarino— go away,_

_For the trap is set_

_And waits for its prey..._

For a moment, Christine could not remember to whom the voice belonged.

A figure in a black cloak, a large hood covering his face, entered on cue from behind the curtain and pulled the fabric shut. He turned to Christine.

_You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge,_

_In pursuit of that wish,_

_Which till now has been silent…_

_Silent..._

With a start, Christine remembered where she was. She smiled and acted as genuinely as she could. As she sat on the bench, the man came behind her and caressed her shoulders. She tensed briefly. _You are acting_, she reminded herself.

_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_The games we've played till now_

_Are at an end..._

_I have brought you,_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me_

_Dropped all defenses_

_Completely succumbed to me_

_Now you are here with me_

_No second thoughts, you've decided_

_Decided..._

The man took the apple from her hand, his fingers brushing her skin.

_Past all thought of "if" or "when"_

_No use resisting_

_Abandon thought,_

_And let the dream descend..._

The man took her wrist and pulled her upstage, almost dragging her. Christine would have jerked out of his grasp if the circumstances were different.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul?_

_What rich desire unlocks its door?_

_What sweet seduction lies before us...?_

The man released his tight hold on her wrist. She massaged it briefly, trying to keep a furious expression off her face.

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn_

_beyond the point of no return..._

The man ended his solo. Christine could not help but break character and look at the audience. No one seemed to think that anything was wrong. She gathered herself and continued the scene, singing her line.

_You have brought me to that moment_

_Where words run dry,_

_To that moment_

_Where speech disappears into silence,_

_Silence..._

Gradually, she began to walk towards the man. _Who are you?_ her mind all but screamed.

_I have come here, hardly_

_Knowing the reason why..._

_In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies_

_Entwining, defenseless and silent –_

_And now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts, I've decided_

_Decided..._

She reached out a hand to touch his face, but in a flash, the man's hand was again on her wrist, stopping her. With as much control as she could manage, she freed her wrist.

_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

_Our passion-play has now, at last, begun..._

_Past all thought of right or wrong..._

_One final question: how long should we two wait_

_Before we're one...?_

_When will the blood begin to race_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom?_

_When will the flames, at last, consume us...?_

She couldn't take anymore; the tension, not knowing who this man was. She turned to leave, but the man caught her arm. She closed her eyes, turning away from him, trying not to show fear, as she joined the man in the song.

_Past the point of no return_

_the final threshold_

_the bridge is crossed,_

_so stand and watch it burn..._

_We've passed the point of no return..._

Before her mind could react to what she was doing, Christine reached forward and ripped the hood off the man's face, revealing him for who he was.

A man with dark eyes, his face half covered by a pallid mask.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Eleven_: Descending into Darkness, Rising into Light

**Paris, France, January 21, 1882: **_**That Night**_

* * *

><p>Erik gently let go of Christine's wrist. She took one step back.<p>

"Promise me you are telling the truth…"

Christine froze. She listened, horrified, as Erik repeated the words she and Raoul had exchanged on the roof of the opera, on the night of _Il Muto_. "All I ask is for you to do one thing for me… please love me... I always have, Christine, ever since I saw you…"

He drew closer, taking her in his arms. He took a thick gold ring off his finger, a ring Christine had not noticed, and pushed it onto her ring finger.

Filled with fury and strength she did not know she possessed, she shoved him back and tore the mask from his face, cutting off his words. He stood for a moment, shocked by her action. Then he roughly grabbed her and dragged her off the stage.

Then, without warning, they disappeared.

Christine never knew a terror as she felt when they disappeared. She did not know, nor did she care, how it had happened. All she knew was Erik's grip on her arms, making crimson marks on her skin, and his blazing, hate-filled eyes.

They appeared next to the shadowy, murmuring lake. Erik somehow was in possession of a rope, which he bound around her wrists. He shoved her into the gondola. "Stay there!" he snarled.

Christine had no intention of obeying. She grabbed the rim of the gondola, preparing to jump into the water. Even if she was incapable of swimming because of her bound hands, she was determined to escape.

Erik grabbed her around the waist and threw her back into the seat. "_I told you to stay in the boat_!" His voice, his expression, were so utterly terrible Christine decided to comply with his instructions.

He got in the gondola and propelled it forward, furious. The journey was silent as before, but this time, their thoughts were filled with anger.

He docked the gondola next to the lair. Christine left the boat before he could drag her out.

"I can see what you are thinking," he spat at her. He picked up a knife and cut the rope in one move. "Why do I live in a catacomb? Because everyone has shown me hatred! I have been hounded out like an animal, all because of my abhorrent appearance!"

He pushed her towards the broken mirror, where the figure in the wedding dress stood awkwardly and gangly. Erik reached through the opening and forced the model forward. "Put on the wedding dress!" he ordered. Christine almost refused, but one look at his face convinced her. She silently undid the lacing and pulled the dress of the mannequin. She went to the room with the Turkish settee and changed out of the Aminta costume and into the bridal gown.

Christine forced herself to leave the room. When she entered the main area, she saw Erik holding a long, white veil in his hand.

For the first time since the performance, Christine spoke. "Have you filled your lust for slaughter? Am _I_ your next victim? Am _I_ to be prey to your desire for carnage?"

He stared at her, almost seeming to look through her. "My face is the only thing standing between us. If you could forget your horror…"

He tore her around and placed the veil on her head. She broke free of his grip, facing away from him.

"It is not your face that repulses me, Erik," she said. She turned. "It is your _soul_ that harbors the true deformation."

He looked shocked, as if struggling to comprehend her words.

Then he suddenly looked at the portcullis, which had closed without her notice. The sound of movement came from the lake. Raoul was climbing from its waters, his drenched shirt clinging at his back.

Christine immediately ran to the gate, ignoring Erik. She reached out a hand through the bars and grasped his hand in hers. "Raoul…"

He gripped her hand. "I'll get you out of here, I promise."

"You _promise_?" Erik suddenly moved from behind them. "What does she need of _promises_, monsieur?"

Christine whirled around to face him. "Don't you _dare_ torture me with promises!"

"Christine!" Raoul reached through the bars and put a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful!"

"Why don't you join us, monsieur?" Erik said scornfully. The gate raised just enough for Raoul to crawl underneath the metal. It closed with a harsh _clang_. Raoul immediately embraced Christine. Erik continued, moving towards the pair. "It's so good to see you came to save your bride-to-be. You thought I would harm Christine, didn't you? Why would I harm _her_? She has done nothing wrong— unlike _you_."

Then he clutched Christine's shoulder and shoved her out of Raoul's arms. Then, before anyone could react, he put a noose around Raoul's neck. Raoul immediately attempted to pry the rope from his neck, but to no avail.

"There is a way to save him, my angel," Erik said.

Christine instantly turned to him. He continued, his voice growing harsh. "Marry me, live your life with me, and I will free him."

Christine froze.

"The other option is to gain your own freedom, but he will never survive."

"Christine, no!" Raoul suddenly said in a strained voice. "I'll be fine! Just go!"

"I will not!" Christine's hands went to the rope. She tried to tear the rope with her nails, but failed. She turned to Erik and went down on her knees. "_Please_, Erik. My teacher, my angel, my… my beloved. _Please_ liberate him."

"You must marry me first." His expression was like a stone.

Her demeanor changed instantly. Christine got up and shoved him back. "Why do you have to control _everything _about my life?" she yelled. She tore the veil from her head, letting it fall to the ground. "Is it not enough for you that you nearly seduced me _onstage_? Now you have to threaten to kill Raoul as well?"

Erik turned away and crossed to the throne-chair, where the mannequin was strewn bizarrely. "I will not change the options. It is either his life or your freedom!"

"Christine, don't!" Raoul insisted. "Don't live underground for the rest of your life, just to save me! It isn't worth it!"

"Yes, it is! If I cannot marry you, the least I can do is see that you live!"

Erik suddenly rose from the chair. "You've tried my patience long enough! Decide, or I _will_ kill him, with or without your consent!" Christine closed her eyes and prayed the hardest she had ever in her life.

She knew what she had to do.

Christine slowly walked towards Erik. "What kind of life have you lived, Erik?" she said in a soft voice. "No one should live as you have: in darkness, in hate." She closed her eyes once more and seemed, unconsciously, saying a prayer out loud. "Give me strength to show him compassion, God."

Then she leaned forward. She placed a hand softly on the right side of his face, the side that was deformed, and kissed him.

She almost felt Erik going into shock as she deepened the kiss. Christine felt his tears on her face as she gently stroked his hair.

She broke the kiss and stared in his eyes. She spoke with as much strength as she could gather. "I will marry you, if you set Raoul free. I… I could learn to love you."

Tears were covering Erik's face. Christine almost did not hear him speak.

"You don't have to."

Erik bent down and picked up the knife. His hands shaking, he went to Raoul and cut the noose. Raoul stumbled forward, clutching his throat. Christine ran to him.

"Go."

Christine and Raoul turned to look at Erik, shocked.

"Don't wait any longer. The mob will be here soon. You can't be found here." He raised the gate wide enough so they could pass underneath it. When they did not move, he became desperate. "Take the boat and leave! Just leave me here!"

Christine turned abruptly and ran, Raoul following her. She led him to the gondola and untied the rope with trembling hands.

Then she stiffened. "Wait." She ran back to the lair. Raoul stayed by the gondola.

Christine walked to Erik. He sat hunched on the throne, turning away from her. She stopped just in front of him.

Slowly, she slipped the thick gold ring off her finger and offered it to him. She was not prepared for his reaction.

There was sadness in his expression, and pain. But there was something else as he hesitantly took the ring and gazed at it.

Acceptance.

Erik was finally accepting that Christine did not love him. He was accepting that even if she had stayed, she could never have fully loved him. And he was accepting that she would have a better, happier life with Raoul than with him.

"Goodbye, Erik."

He said nothing as she left the lair for the gondola. Then, just as she passed under the gate, she heard four words. His last words.

"_Christine, I love you…_"

Those four words broke her heart, but she kept walking.

Raoul had readied the gondola and was now waiting for her, black pole in hand. "Is everything all right?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him and smiled softly. "Yes. It finally is."

As she entered the gondola for the last time, Raoul pushed off, and the last journey in the catacombs began.

Christine turned to look at Raoul. He had a tormented, mystified expression on his face.

"What is it, Raoul?"

He did not answer her right away.

"Did you… love him? Do you regret your choice?"

She turned to face him. "No, Raoul. I did not. All I felt was… pity, admiration for him. Admiration for his talent, for his voice, for his teaching. Never love. How could I love someone who murdered to gain my affection?"

They reached the other side of the lake. Once they docked the gondola, Christine took Raoul's hand in hers. "I love _you_. Only you. Not even my father."

Raoul reached out and hugged her.

The fact that he hugged her was the most wonderful thing he had done for her. He didn't kiss her or demand her undying love. He just embraced her and accepted her for who she was. Not because of her voice or her looks. Because of who she was as a person.

* * *

><p>Erik sat on the throne, clutching the wedding veil. <em>Christine's <em>wedding veil. His heart was beating agonizingly in his chest. If only it would stop, he could finally be at peace.

He would die alone, in the catacombs underneath the opera house.

The musical box— the musical box that sat next to the throne, the musical box that the Sultan had given him as a farewell gift when he left Persia— began to play on its own. He had never listened to its tune before, but now, as an unseen hand wound the lever, the melody echoed around the lair, sinking into his memory. Without knowing what he was doing, he sang along with it.

_Masquerade_

_Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade_

_Hide your face so the world_

_Will never find you…_

How true, the words were, how apt.

Erik lifted the mask and gazed at it, lost in thought. _A mask_. The very first piece of clothing his mother had given him. How she had hated the mere sight of him, even when he was a child. What he would give to gain his mother's love…

Everyone had been horrified, revolted, at the sight of him. Even Christine had, in the beginning, recoiled.

But Christine had been the only one in his entire life to show his sympathy.

She had shown him compassion.

It was too much for his heart— the organ as well as the soul. It beat frantically, as if desperate to flee the cage that was his body. He fell back against the throne, groaning in pain and clutching the arm supports.

All in a moment, a flash of pain. And then, nothing.

He saw visions of past events in his life: his childhood being shunned by his parents, the time he was paid to be ridiculed at the circus, the day Madame Giry helped him escape the circus. The day he saw Christine.

_Christine, my beautiful angel_.

Then everything was gone.


End file.
